


What happens on New Caprica..

by Starb_uck



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, Prison, Punishment, Resistance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starb_uck/pseuds/Starb_uck
Summary: If Starbuck hadn't been stuck in Leoben's creepy apartment she would surely have been a major player in the resistance movement.What might have happened if she'd got caught?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, another one of my "let's pick on Starbuck!" tales. Please read tags/warnings etc and don't read if you think you won't like it.
> 
> Nothing f/m specific, just references to Kara's current domestic situation with Sam. Cylon f/f stuff comes later. So to speak. Snarf.

"It doesn't have to be like this, Kara".

She heard the words through the swirling mists of her suffering. Her whole body ached with grinding cramps at the contorted position she was held in. She had the worst headache she'd ever known. 

D'Anna looked down at the human rebel. She'd been in the punishment stocks for a day and a night now, and the weather hadn't been kind. She was trembling; her body wracked with shivers. She coughed harshly. 

"All you have to do is apologise, Kara. Say you're sorry, and that you've learnt your lesson. That isn't so hard, is it? And then you can go home.."

Kara coughed again. She felt the heat of fever in her throat; the only part of her that was warm. Until she felt the Cylon's hand on her back. It rubbed in circles, and she had to bite back a moan at the pain. The whipping had been a week ago, but the marks were still raw. The pain cut through her apathy, however, and brought back a small measure of her resistance. 

*** 

It had all started a week ago. Well, really it started when the Cylons found them again, four months ago, but it had taken some time to get the resistance organised, once they'd had it confirmed that the concept of peaceful Cylon rule was a complete frakking joke. Still, it was easier to rouse the more passive people to join their resistance movement, once the first blow had been struck, the first executions carried out. 

Also, although the Cylons had assumed her involvement almost from the very first, they'd had no proof. They'd contented themselves with watching her very closely, trying to catch her out. It had become harder and harder for Kara to get in touch with the others, and almost impossible for her to carry out any acts of insurrection. She'd chafed at the forced inactivity. Every time she left her tent, she found that one of the skinjobs, most often a Leoben or a D'Anna, sometimes both together, just so happened to be in the area. They affected surprise, initiated conversation, and she had no choice but to play along. Gods, it was infuriating! 

A week ago, she'd snapped. Snuck out of her tent in the dead of night, leaving Sam snoring. She had to do *something, dammit! She figured she wouldn't endanger the others by trying to contact them. Even if she only took out one toaster, it'd be worth it.. would make the daily Cylon chitchat slightly more bearable. She grinned sourly. 

There was an ammo dump by the river. Had she gone to the Chief or to Saul, they would have been able to tell her that they suspected the skinjobs had found it and were staking it out. Hell, what did it matter now anyway.

***

She grunted, her body trying once again desperately to straighten out, even while her brain knew it was pointless. The back of her neck came up firmly against the unyielding wood, and she bit back on a moan of suffering. 

***

The Centurions had been waiting, red eyes muted to hide in the darkness. As soon as she ripped off the planks covering the pit, they clanked forwards, surrounding her. Blinding white light filled the night, forcing her to raise both hands to her eyes. She had no weapon, and even if she had, it would have been too late. 

"Good evening, Captain. Nice night for a stroll, isn't it?"

***

She'd been hauled back to the encampment, almost frozen with fear and rage. Caught. Caught caught caught. D'Anna had walked besides her, smiling and talking rubbish about purpose, and God's plan, and the spirit of cooperation, and a whole load of other mumbo jumbo she tried her best to close her mind to. 

Reaching the newly-constructed detention centre, she was unceremoniously ushered into a pitch black cell and left alone all night.

***

Morning came, and with it a beam of light from a window aperture high above her head. Too far to get anywhere near. She studied the door. Solid steel. Cylons didn't do things by halves. She sighed. She didn't really think that they would execute her, not for just attempting to access an ammo dump, but she wasn't sure. They might want to set an example, crush the resistance before it really got off the ground. Hell, she didn't know. 

They didn't execute her. Waited until the sun, such as it was on New Caprica, was high, and the word had been passed among the people. *Public flogging, high noon, market square. Who? Captain Thrace, I hear.. No! They got Kara? 

D'Anna administered the punishment personally. Kara was dragged to the square by the Centurions, kicking wildly. D'Anna could have had the guards hold her while her restraints were secured, but she preferred to use the prisoner's renewed defiance as an excuse to demonstrate to the crowd the consequences of disobedience. She converged on the pilot as the machines let her go, along with Leoben and Sharon. They surrounded her, giving her no chance to escape. The human did manage to get a few good blows in, but it wasted valuable time and energy in yelling insults and threats. D'Anna and the others remained implacable, virtually expressionless, slight smirks the only clue to their state of mind. 

They beat her savagely to the ground, punching and slapping again and again until she stopped trying to get up. A kick to the gut finished things, and the prisoner curled up into a helpless ball, hacking harshly.

Things moved quickly then. D'Anna ordered her locked into the shackles dangling from the punishment structure in the middle of the square. Starbuck tried to regain some of her defiance, but it was hard. Gods, her face hurt.. She could sense a large crowd in attendance, but refused to look at them. She felt bizarrely ashamed of herself and her situation. 

D'Anna was speaking again, to the crowd now, telling them of her crime and her sentence. Starbuck didn't even bother listening to the words. She swallowed. She knew what was coming. She'd seen it before. 

Standing back, the Three model began to administer her very public flogging. The crowd was very quiet, and the sound of the whip very loud. Starbuck bit her lip. She was determined not to break, but of course it was only ever a matter of time. 

***

D'Anna stepped back and passed the bloodied whip to one of the Dorals without taking her eyes off Starbuck. She was breathing slightly harder than usual, and her colour was heightened, but otherwise she showed no sign of the strenuous exercise of the last thirty minutes. She addressed the crowd. 

"Thank you for coming, everyone". As if they'd had a choice. "I hope this spectacle serves to adequately demonstrate the consequences of acts of violence towards the Cylon. Let me be clear, retribution *will continue as long as is necessary. Thank you".

She turned and began making her way towards the main building. Starbuck swung limp and unconscious in her chains. 

***

Her back was a bloody mess. Sam wept as he laid her gently on her front on their shared bed. No medical facility here. He'd just have to wait for the doctor, who, he'd been incredulously informed, was currently busy treating a Sharon for an infected finger. Saul had helped him carry Starbuck in, and their eyes met now in shared horror as the semi-conscious pilot moaned on the bed. 

"Bastards.."

"Bastards".

"What can we do, Colonel?"

"Nothing. Right now. Just gotta help her as best we can".

Using cold water and old rags, they began gently cleaning the blood from her back. When it came to removing her tattered pants to tend to the wounds on her thighs and buttocks, Saul quietly left the tent, leaving Kara to her whimpers and Sam to his helpless anger. 

***

If they'd thought it couldn't get any worse, they'd been so wrong. There was another beating two days later. Kara hadn't even left the tent, had had nothing to do with the attack ️on the Centurion patrol, and yet they came for her anyway. Sam had raged at them until they knocked him flat. 

She was weaker this time. Struggling against the Centurions just hurt her back too much; the barely-healing lash marks breaking open almost immediately. So she lay still in their unbreakable grip, merely gasping as she tried to cope with the pain. She couldn't believe this was happening to her again - this time, when she palpably hadn't done anything to deserve the punishment. And she knew that the Cylons knew it too. 

She was strung up once more from the structure, D'Anna circling her with predatory eyes, ready to preach once again to the surrounding crowd. All just the same as last time, except that this time her back was bloody, her face was bruised, her blonde head bowed. D'Anna stripped the loose shirt from her body. 

"This is the result of the continuing violence against the Cylon government! Last night, two Centurions were ambushed outside the Western perimeter. Gunfire opened up, and these two loyal soldiers were destroyed! You were all warned, not two days ago, that attacks of this nature will, not, be tolerated!"

She held out her hand and the Chief saw with disbelieving eyes a Doral, probably the same one, pass her the bullwhip. A mutter went up from the crowd. 

"Nobody has been caught for this crime! Nobody has been brought to justice! Now, I promise you that the perpetrator or perpetrators *will be found, and they *will be dealt with. However," she teased the head of the whip across Starbuck's shoulders, "until that time, we thought it best to provide a timely reminder to you all of the inadvisability of resistance. And I don't care..." 

She stopped as the mutter and roar of the crowd grew louder. Her voice grew louder. "And I don't *care if this particular human carried out this offence, or not. She's been found guilty of planning a prior attack, which was stopped before it could take place, so she may as well be punished for this one".

The crowd was angry now, pushing against the barriers. D'Anna gestured, and the Centurions stepped forwards as one, their rifles rising to hip height. The crowd shrank back. D'Anna smiled, her voice at a lower pitch once more. 

"Maybe the next one of you who finds themselves tempted to do something.. *foolish, might remember the consequences.. which might not always turn out to be exactly what you expect".

She turned in triumph now to the hanging pilot, who had raised her head during this speech and now faced the crowd, her jaw set. She fixed her eye on a crane across the way, stubbornly refusing to make eye contact with anyone. 

"Poor Starbuck", she said softly now, the words only for her. "My poor little poster girl. You didn't know what you'd let yourself in for, do you? When you started all this?"

Starbuck didn't reply, standing mulish and proud even naked to the waist with the stripes on her back livid in the murky grey evening light. 

"And you still don't. But believe me, Kara, you will. Oh, you will.."

***

It took a lot less time this time for the pilot first to break her stubborn silence, then to moan. Then to scream. D'Anna refused to stop until she begged. Begged, in front of all that crowd, all those people, some of whom were her friends, some she'd had disagreements with. They all knew her, even if only by sight and reputation. Captain Thrace, Top Gun, CAG, the best pilot in the Colonial Fleet. Starbuck, whose exploits both in and out of the cockpit were legendary. Kara, who was now hanging in chains, tears streaming down her face, begging the Cylon to stop, please stop, oh please Gods, I’ll do anything, but Lords won’t you please stop..


	2. Chapter 2

## Two days later ##

"Saul! Some frakker's just punched a skinjob outside the school! Really went to town on him! After we put the word out and everything..."

"Oh, FRAK!!" Saul stared wordlessly at the young man, standing in the tent doorway with desperation in his eyes. 

They'd issued the instruction on the underground that the violence had to stop, until they'd figured out a way to deal with the Cylons' new tactics. Until they found a way to help Kara, who was currently whimpering on the bed. A light sheet was all she could bear to cover her, even though the air was cold. Saul had a brazier going by the bed, but there wasn't enough wood to keep it going for long. 

"They'll be coming for her, Colonel. You know that! What're we gonna do? We gotta get her out of here!"

Saul looked at him grimly and adjusted his eye patch. "I know that, son. And we will. But Gods only know what the frakkers'll do about that.."

"We'll worry about that later!" Sam was already bundling things into a bag, finding a shawl for Kara. Her gently lifted her to a sitting position and wrapped the thick cloth around her. She moaned, pushing her face into his shoulder as if to hide herself away. He kissed her gently and lifted her. 

"Go on! I'll bring the stuff..." Saul growled, unwilling to admit that the sight before him had touched his grizzled old heart. He grabbed the bag and the papers, following Sam and Kara out into the bitterly cold night. 

***

D'Anna warmed her hands over the brazier. It had now burned low, but a few embers still glowed red. She spoke to Saul without looking at him. 

"Where is she, Colonel?"

"Where's who?" 

He answered the Cylon without looking at her, knew if he had done she would have been able to read the hate in his eyes. He wouldn't have been able to hide it. 

"You know who, Colonel. Please don't try my patience. Where is Captain Thrace?"

"I don't know. Anders must've taken her off somewhere. Asked me to mind the tent. Didn't say where he was going".

D'Anna gazed at him narrowly. 

"I see. And his decision to move his wife had nothing to do with the latest act of insurrection against the Cylon, I suppose?"

"Don't know nothing about that. And even if it was.." he raised his one eye to her face for the first time, "even if it was, ain't no law that a man and his wife can't move along from time to time, is there? This is supposed to be a peaceful occupation after all, isn't it, ma'am?"

D'Anna regarded him thoughtfully. 

"Yes, of course it is, Colonel. However, that doesn't change the fact that a law was passed this morning, in light of the most recent atrocity, requiring the entire human population of New Caprica to register their domiciles, and to inform the authorities of any change of address. So, I'll ask you again. Where are Sam Anders and Kara Thrace?"

"I told you, I don't know. And if they moved on before they knew about this law, why, you can't hold them in contempt of it, can you?"

"I see. I see you're not going to be helpful here, Colonel. A pity. I do require a.. *volunteer, to provide another example for the masses, you see. How would you like to step forward?"

Saul stared at her with disgust. 

"I think you know that this isn't justice, ma'am. Punishing someone who's innocent, someone you *know is innocent, just to prove a point and keep the masses in their place? How is that right?"

D'Anna smiled down at him and clasped her hand behind her back. 

"I don't *know that you're innocent, Colonel. How would I know what you were doing last night? The point is, any one of you *could have committed this atrocity, and therefore to our minds you're *all guilty of it. So, to pick out just one of you, at random, each time the perpetrators aren't immediately apparent, is actually quite merciful, wouldn't you say? It could be execution squads, whole families, lining up against a wall, couldn't it?"

Saul stared at her in disgusted horror. Every time he thought the Cylon had reached the very pinnacle of cruelty, they somehow managed to surprise him. 

"Fine", he growled out. "Fine. If that's what you call justice, then take me. I've had dealings with you folk before..." Here he involuntary touched his eye patch, "so no doubt I can get through it again".

D'Anna stared at him, smiling slightly. She said nothing. 

"Well? Come on!" he barked, temper rising at last after so long held in careful check. "What're you waiting for, for frak's sake??"

The Cylon laughed, a bitter, tinkling sound. 

"I'm afraid you misunderstand me, Colonel. I didn't come here looking for just any old volunteer. I came here for Starbuck".

"And I already told you that I don't know where she frakking is!"

D'Anna held out her hands once more to the brazier. She grinned without warmth. 

"Fine. Have it your way. I'd strongly advise you to pay attention to the news in the morning though. You might hear something of interest to you. And please, don't say that I didn't warn you".

She turned abruptly, and in a swish of honey coloured, honey scented hair, pushed through the door hangings and disappeared into the night. 

***

*Oh, frak... Oh frak, no. Gods, no...

Saul read the poster hammered into the floor by the tent post at the same time as he heard it over the tinny voice of the tannoy. 

# Anyone with knowledge of the whereabouts of Captain Kara Thrace should be aware that increased food rations will be offered for information leading to her location. Failure to disclose such information will be subject to harsh measures. Information will be treated in the strictest of confidence.. # 

The whiny voice continued, repeating its incessant message over and over. Saul tuned it out. Frak. This was bad. He hadn't realised the Cylons would go this far, that they wanted her back this badly. 

*** 

Somehow, he got through his day, keeping his head down. He genuinely didn't know where Kara and Sam were; they'd all thought it safer that way. As the sun lowered, he thought it wasn't only in his imagination that all the skinjobs he passed seemed more and more furious, and he rejoiced inside. Clearly they hadn't found her yet, and he blessed the anonymous people who must be protecting her. 

# a All citizens proceed to the market square.. All citizens.. #

He jumped and winced as the tannoy suddenly blasted out right above his head. *Lords of Kobol.. They've got her... But it wasn't what he feared. 

Proceeding reluctantly to the site of Starbuck's previous two punishments, he was surprised to see not that blonde vixen, the perpetual pain in his ass, that endlessly surprising mixture of brazenness and vulnerability, but someone he'd never seen before. A young man, very young. Only looked about twelve, thirteen. Dark hair. Wrists bound before him. A terrified look upon his face as he stood on the high dais. D'Anna stood next to him. 

"Good evening, everyone. I apologise for taking up yet more of your time, and I promise not to keep you for long. This young man", here she put her hand on his shoulder lightly, and the boy cringed and moaned. "This young man, Michael, was caught today stealing food. Now, a crime of this nature, particularly when committed by a minor, usually carries a relatively mild penalty. In light, however, of the community's continued reluctance to produce the rebel, the criminal Kara Thrace, I'm quite frankly not feeling particularly charitable. Let me be brief. If Thrace isn't delivered to me by this time tomorrow, I will execute this thief where we stand".

The crowd was stunned. Complete silence met her words, and the Cylon took advantage of the stunned population. She pushed the boy ahead of her, off the dais and into the waiting arms of the centurions, then quickly followed them into the night. 

Now the crowd began to mutter. Voices rose, in fright, in misery, and in anger. Faces began to turn towards Saul. They knew he associated with Anders and Thrace, they knew of their shared connection to the resistance movement. They thought that he, if anyone, would know where she was. He found himself raising both hands, one by one, to shield his face, as if to ward off their gaze and rising hatred. 

Stumbling back to his own tent, he thought bitterly that D'Anna had chosen well. Short of a frakking toddler, she couldn't have picked someone more likely to steal the sympathy of the people away from Starbuck. 

He heard a hissed whisper from between two tents and, looking both ways quickly, ducked in between them. 

"Anders! What the.."

"Ssh. No time. You heard?"

"Yeah.. Frakking murderers.. What're you gonna do?" 

"I don't *know!! I can't let them kill that kid, but I can't give her up, either! Help me, Saul! What the frak am I gonna do?"

Saul stared at the frantic young man. He reminded himself that Sam wasn't a soldier, hadn't been trained in making the tough decisions, even though he'd had a pretty intense baptism of fire since the fall of the colonies. He was panicking, but Saul couldn't blame him for that. He was in an impossible position.

He cleared his throat. "Well, it seems to me, Anders, that you've gotta look at this logically. They won't back down on this one, they won't lose face. And if they kill this boy, it won't stop there. There'll be another one the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that. The people will turn against you, Anders. Sam. Now you can ignore all of that, you can save Kara, but you'll have to learn to live with the consequences. Do you think you can do that?"

Sam stared at him. He ran his hands over his face. His eyes were horrified. 

"But you're asking me to give her up! They'll kill her, Colonel! I just don't think that I can do that! I..."

"I don't think they'll kill her. Now, I could be wrong, Gods knows it wouldn't be the first time, but I don't think so. She's their poster girl for vengeance, boy. They aren't going to give that up for no good reason. You understand?"

"But.. you mean.. You're asking me to let them.." Sam slammed his fist into the ground, his face a contorted mass of anguish. 

"She wouldn't be the poster girl for vengeance, Saul! She'd be the poster girl for frakking *torture! Do you understand that! Godsdamned *torture!!"

Saul said nothing, merely slid from his hunkered down position to sit besides Sam on the ground. His hand clasped the young man's shoulder. There was nothing to say. 

Sam turned to him, his face a mask of pleading. He shrugged his shoulders, brushing off Saul's comforting hand. 

"Torture, Colonel..."

Saul sighed and replaced his hand on Sam's shoulder. He waited in silence while Sam wept silently, shoulders shaking in the darkness. He waited for his friend to make his impossible, inevitable choice.

***

"Ah, how delightful".

D'Anna smiled down at Starbuck. The pilot sat on the bed, glaring up at her tormenter with furious eyes. A few days of rest had done her the world of good, the Cylon thought judiciously. Although her back still clearly gave her pain, she was awake, and aware, and the defiance was back on her face. 

"I trust your husband and the good Colonel have brought you up to speed on the events of the last few days, Captain? I wonder.. did you make the choice yourself, or did they choose for you?"

Starbuck said nothing, remaining defiantly silent. D'Anna turned to look at Saul and Sam, standing furious in their turn by the door of the tent. 

"Gentlemen? Care to share?"

Nothing. The rage in the tent was palpable, held in check, she thought, only by the presence of the Centurion guard. 

"I see. Well, perhaps it is a little too soon for confession. Things are a little too raw still, no? Still, i'd like to congratulate all of you on doing the right thing. History will remember you kindly, you know".

Starbuck shifted on the bed. 

"If history remembers any of this at all, which I doubt, it'll be that the Cylons were frakking evil bastards, and that the "peaceful occupation" of New Caprica was a complete and utter frakking joke..."

"Starbuck!!"

Saul's voice snapped out the single word, and Starbuck stopped. Obedience to the command structure ingrained within her psyche. She quieted, but she still glared up at her tormentor with hate-filled eyes. 

D'Anna smiled. 

"I understand that this is difficult for you right now, Kara. I wouldn't expect you to understand. Yet. But you will. Now. If you'd come with me, please.." She gestured before her to the doorway. 

Having no choice, and yet with her whole body crying out to her to stop, Starbuck pushed her legs off the bed and stood. Her legs felt shaky. She told herself furiously not to show fear, not to show weakness in front of this sadistic manipulative Cylon bitch. She stopped before Sam and Saul, deliberately not looking them in the face. 

"Goodbye. I'll see you soon.."

Not trusting herself to say anything else, she pushed towards the tent doorway. 

"Kara.."

Sam's voice was broken. She couldn't leave him like that... She stopped, and turned. 

"Sam.. don't.. please..." She still couldn't look him in the eye. 

"Kara... I... I love you.."

She smiled grimly. "Bad luck, Sammy. But hell. I... you, too..."

She cut her eyes to Saul. As she did so, he straightened his whole body, snapping his heels together and lifting his chin. He cut her the sharpest salute she'd ever seen, conveying all the respect he'd developed for her over the last few months. A level of respect she'd never dreamed she'd ever see back in the early days on Galactica. And that, if nothing else, made her think that this was it, that she was never coming back.

Kara winked at him, one of those cheeky winks that used to drive him batshit. She returned his salute casually, a touch of the old Starbuck swagger coming back into her demeanour.

"Be good, Colonel. See you guys soon". She pushed through the drapes covering the doorway. 

D'Anna moved to follow her, smiling in muted satisfaction. 

"Gentlemen. Thank you for your cooperation. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, soon. In the meantime, let's just hope there are no further acts of violence, acts which will require.. *retribution. Yes?"

Sam made a strangled noise of rage and lunged towards her. The Centurions raised their pistols as one and Saul grabbed Sam bodily to hold him back. Smiling, D'Anna stepped daintily towards the door and followed Starbuck out into the grey afternoon drizzle.


	3. Chapter 3

Back to the detention cell. She knew she'd stay there now, always, until her presence was required once more. D'Anna wasn't going to take any more chances. Whipping boy for the human population of New frakking Caprica. Her new unwilling job title. She sighed as the cell door clanged shut behind her. 

***

It was inevitable, really. The Cylons now really had the gloves off, and bullied and harassed the human population incessantly. The resistance had put the word out, and acts of rebellion had all but petered out, despite the increased provocation. But it couldn't last. The community was like a pressure cooker, ready to blow, and the Cylons knew it and relished it. D'Anna in particular was in a simmering state of delicious anticipation, knowing that sooner or later the lid would blow off, and that, whenever that happened, Starbuck was safely locked up, helpless, awaiting her pleasure. 

***

They left her alone, for the most part. She had natural daylight from the skylight in her cell, but that same skylight wasn't covered, and it let in the wind and the rain. Still, she was glad for the light. It enabled her to keep some sort of track of the days as they passed. 

She had a mattress, and a ragged blanket. One, or both of them had fleas. This fact in particular infuriated Starbuck. She'd worked so hard to eradicate small biting insects from the tent she shared with Sam. It wasn't easy; all the humans lived in such close proximity to each other, and washing facilities certainly weren't anything like they were on Galactica, dear old bucket that it was. Still, she'd bullied and badgered Sam, and washed and scrubbed and pounded at her bedsheets until she was reasonably confident every night of being able to sleep without waking up every couple of hours, scratching herself to death in a state of high fury. It wasn't like her to take such pride in her possessions and personal hygiene, and when Sam and others laughed at her for her obsession, she took grim pleasure in refusing to rise to the taunts. The rest of New Caprica could spend its days and nights scratching itself bloody, for all she cared, but she was damned if she would give in to the insidious biting little bastards. So she made Sam scrub himself on a regular basis, and hang his coat up instead of tossing it on the bed, and kissed him sweetly whenever he complained. 

Her back still hurt; the raised, angry welts still seeped blood onto her blanket and mattress. She tried to move slowly, when she moved at all, to avoid breaking the healing flesh open as much as possible. D'Anna had had one of the Cylon doctors, a Six model, check her over on her arrival, and the woman had pronounced her basically healthy. Thin, undernourished and scarred, but basically healthy and fit for work. *Frakking sadists... She could barely stand. The doctor had prescribed some cream for her wounds, she supposed some kind of antiseptic to prevent infection, and she was left to herself to apply it. She particularly hated doing this, as she presumed her tormentor would be watching on the video feed, and she smeared the cream onto her shirt each night, using the cloth in a seesaw motion to apply it to the parts of her back that she couldn't reach. Her buttocks and thighs were easier to treat. There was a camera on the far wall, high above her reach, and she knew that they were watching her. That D'Anna was watching her. And she was damned if she'd let that bitch see her break. 

She used the metal bucket in the corner as quickly and as sparingly as possible, aware all the time of the damned camera above her, and held the blanket around her as she did so. Wonder of wonders, there was a quarter of a roll of toilet paper. 

So these things she could deal with, in her own way. The fleas, the itchy, maddening lumps on her arms and belly and legs, they were the things that had brought her closest to breaking down since she'd been tossed into this horrible cell. But she forced the tears back. Camera, camera, camera. 

Meals came sporadically. Bread and water. What a frakking cliche. She dreamed of vegetables, fruit.. Now that *wasn't a cliche. She'd never really thought before about what she might crave if she were starving (being starved) but she was damned sure she wouldn't have expected this. Vegetables... and flying. She dreamed about flying a lot. Mostly of the days after the fall, when on the run with Galactica. At the time it'd seemed like hell, but looking back, she realised she'd been almost happy. Free to fly every day, her wildest excesses now seeming almost normal, here at the end of the world. Nothing to lose but her own miserable frakked up life. But now.. Now, when she had everything to lose, she realised how very, very much she wanted to live. 

***

Three days, she thought. Three days it had been, when the cell door opened, and instead of a nameless Eight or Five stepping through with an ever-present Centurion guard, depositing a plate and a cup on the floor and departing wordlessly, D'Anna stepped deliberately into the cell and stood looking down at her. 

"Good morning, Starbuck. Nice to see you again".

Starbuck said nothing. She sat on her mattress, back against the wall. She was glad the other woman hadn't caught her sleeping. She slept a lot these days. Didn't have a lot else to do. 

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. There's been an attack on the town hall. Three models killed outright, two more terminated. Twelve receiving treatment for their injuries. The perpetrators, as yet, remain at large. Now you know what this means, don't you?"

Starbuck stirred. Keeping her eyes on the Cylon's face, she dropped her arms from resting on her knees to lie beside her on the mattress. 

"Sure. I know what it means. It means you need a scapegoat. It's why I'm here, isn't it? So, is this it? Gonna execute me this time? Might as well get it over with..."

D'Anna smiled down at her. 

"No, indeed, Thrace. You're far more valuable to us alive. Look at the benefit you're already providing! Three days with not a single act of insurgency! Now i can't remember the last time that happened, can you? It just shows that my prediction was correct. The knowledge that their precious Starbuck lies rotting in a cell, ready to be hauled out for retribution whenever it becomes necessary, provides a powerful deterrent to criminal acts, doesn't it? I only wish that I'd thought of it sooner! Three days, Captain, just think of it! Next time, perhaps we can manage a week, what do you think? But of course, what the humans require right now, in order to provide a timely reminder of the benefit of obedience, is another little demonstration from you. So..." 

She moved closer, smiling sweetly down at her prisoner. "If you'd care to get to your feet?"

Starbuck bared her teeth. "Only three killed? I just wish they'd got a few more of you fraks..." She pushed herself painfully to her feet, knowing there was no point in further resistance. D'Anna smiled thinly. 

"I'm sure you do, Captain. But that's by the by. Now, do come along. Everyone's waiting for you".

***

Not the shackles, and the whip, this time. Starbuck felt a faint sense of relief, before she realised that whatever D'Anna had planned for her, it certainly wasn't likely to be a holiday camp. She noted the crowd in the square, just like the last two times. She kept her head up, but again, refused to make eye contact with any individual. In particular, she didn't want to see Sam, or Saul, or any of her other closest friends. 

There was a new structure in the market place. Made of wood, she could see sap oozing from the freshly cut timbers. *Hasty job, she thought tiredly, as she was escorted towards it. She listened with half an ear to D'Anna's rhetoric, as she eulogised the dead Cylons, extolled their virtues and how they'd only ever wanted the very best for their human charges. How all of them, *all of them, only had their best interests at heart. They only wanted to help. *Some help... 

She was asked to kneel down in the mud, before the structure. She stood silent for long moments, eyes closed, breathing deeply, debating with herself. No. Too far. They could force her, sure, but she wouldn't do their work for them, even though it would mean pain.


	4. Chapter 4

Saul and Sam stood side by side at the edge of the crowd. Sam hadn't wanted to come, hadn't thought he'd be able to bear it, but the Colonel had insisted. Said that they owed it to Kara, to bear witness. Sam had objected to the choice of words; said that made it sound more like a frakking execution. Saul had merely grunted, but he had gotten his way. So now they had a clear view as the bitch Three model stepped forward, shaking her head mockingly. 

"So sad, you humans. So very sad that you all seem so very determined to make things difficult for yourselves. Take Starbuck here. All she has to do is obey a polite request, and yet for no reason at all, she refuses to do so. You're all guilty of this, you know. All of you. So, you can all learn something from Kara's experience, I think. Yes - I'd like you all to take something away from this".

Her voice faded into silence. Starbuck stood quiet, facing the stocks, facing away from her tormentor. Both hands reached out suddenly, fingers curled into hooks. Nails dragged excruciatingly down flesh, ripping open barely healing wounds. Starbuck couldn't help it. She screamed. Loud. Oh gods... the pain... She fell forward onto her knees, not thinking, just desperate to escape the punishment. 

"Oh.. oh you bitch..."

Her outstretched hands met the rough wood of the new structure. She whimpered, tears of pain filling her eyes and slipping down her cheeks. 

"Better. Thank you, Starbuck. Better late than never".

She heard the hated voice above her through the haze of her pain. The crowd groaned in sympathy with her plight. D'Anna didn't care a hoot. She unlocked the device and lifted the top half. There was a hole for the prisoner's head and smaller ones for her wrists. Starbuck saw now how this was going to work. Understood how this punishment was going to play out. 

"Come along".

Hands eased her gently into place, providing pressure on her wounded back whenever she hesitated. She groaned. 

"Good girl..."

The words just for her, too quiet to be heard even by those in the front line of the watching throng. 

The top level of the stocks descended once more, locked into place. And now she realised the true cruelty of this device. Whereas a traditional model held her head and hands in a horizontal position, able to look forward, this one had the addition of a piece of wood attached to the top level which prevented her from lifting her head. It held it firmly in place, pointing directly down at the ground. She gave an experimental wriggle. Couldn't move at all. *Frak me... Her head was already beginning to ache. 

***

So now, nearly twenty four hours since she'd been locked into these horrible stocks, Starbuck didn't have very much left at all. But she wasn't quite done. 

"Why don't you go frak yourself?"

Her voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. D'Anna had to bend close to make out the words. She sighed. 

"Oh, Starbuck. Will you never learn? I was hoping that this wouldn't be necessary, but I'm afraid that you've left me with no choice".

She straightened abruptly, gesturing to the Centurions who stood guard around the market square. They clanked forward, converging on the helpless human. 

D'Anna heard an angry mutter from the crowd. She turned to see that its ranks had swelled while she'd been talking to the prisoner. Now there were nearly a hundred humans watching events unfold, faces passive and blank. The faces were blank, but she could sense the undercurrent of anger emanating from them. Frakking humans. She hated them all, hated their dirty, bedraggled appearance, hated their weakness, their petty need for hatred and vengeance. Hated them for their stubborn will to resist. But most of all, she hated the one in the stocks before her. This one.. if only she could break this one, she knew the others would follow, and she burned with the desire to crush her into the dirt, break her down and bend her will to her own. 

She smiled as the Centurions released Starbuck from her shackles and hauled her upright. The human hissed in unwilling agony as her body was forced to straighten after so long bent double. D'Anna's smile grew wider. 

"Pass the word, New Capricans", she called out to the crowd. "Thrace is being held in lawful detention for her crimes. See to it that you learn from her mistakes. We will *not suffer any further acts of violence against the legitimate occupation of this colony".

The crowd murmured angrily, but made no move. Sensible, thought the Cylon approvingly. Centurions lined the edges of the small square, and the crowd knew how quickly their immobile forms could snap into sudden deadly violence. 

D'Anna picked her way through the mud and rubbish on the streets, grimacing distastefully. Give the humans anything and they immediately begin filling it up with junk, ruining natural resources with their own stinking byproducts. Animals. She followed the Centurions, dragging the unresisting human steadily towards the detention centre. 

***

She was hustled into a sparse hospital facility. Low cots, shelves of medical equipment. No windows. The Centurions took up positions either side of the door, and D'Anna dragged her by the arm to the nearest cot. 

"Sit".

She sat. D'Anna caught the eye of a passing Six and gestured her over. 

"Have you got a moment to give the prisoner a once over, sister?"

Starbuck looked at the doctor and quickly lowered her eyes once more. This Six looked mean and hard. Her lips were thin and she had grim lines around her mouth. Starbuck was immediately afraid, and felt angry with herself for being so. Time was when Starbuck wasn't afraid of anything. 

"I'm a bit busy as the moment, sister". Starbuck felt dismissive, contemptuous eyes on her. "And this thing certainly isn't a very high priority, is it? What's wrong with it?"

That contemptuous 'it'... Oh, how she hated that. 

D'Anna's voice was airy. "Oh, I just want it checked over. It's been in the stocks since yesterday, and you know how feeble they are.."

The doctor snorted. "Fine. Just give me a moment". 

She passed her clipboard to an assistant; passed on a few terse, whispered instructions. Moved to a nearby sink and began to scrub her hands. Starbuck waited fearfully. She was afraid of this woman - something about her terrified her beyond belief. The sense of coiled rage, hatred, cruelty too strong to ignore. She'd told herself to remain defiant, not to give in and cower before these monsters, but she found herself frankly quite scared even to look this woman in the eye.


	5. Chapter 5

Pulling on gloves, the doctor strode over to where Starbuck sat meekly on the edge of the bed. She couldn't help but flinch when the Cylon reached out towards her brusquely. She saw a slight smile touch her lips and thought *she likes this. She likes that I'm frightened of her. She's only going to get worse. Get a hold of yourself..

The Six gripped her chin between thumb and forefinger and jerked her head upwards sharply. Starbuck yelped at the sudden pain.

"Hold still", the Cylon told her shortly, twisting her head from side to side, looking into her eyes. "No concussion," she muttered to D'Anna. She pinched her chin bruisingly hard for a moment before letting go. Next, she used her gloved fingers to probe the lacerations on Starbuck's face; the deep cuts on her eyebrows and cheekbones. 

"Hmmm... these don't require stitches..."

He hands moved to Starbuck's jaw, palpating it with iron hands. It hurt like frak from where she'd been punched and slapped so many times. Starbuck winced and jerked involuntarily away from the cruel fingers. 

The Six stilled, fixing Starbuck with her stare. The hands tightened on her jaw. Starbuck whimpered; forced her body to remain motionless. 

"I thought I told you to hold still?? Frakking humans.."

She held the pose for long moments. Starbuck bit down on the pain from her tortured jaw. She prayed that the Cylon would let go soon. Eventually, evidently deciding that Starbuck had had enough, she did. 

"Some bruising along the jawline.."

*some bruising?!

"...but nothing other than to be expected. Now.." 

Her fingers moved to prod at Starbuck's split and swollen lips. Starbuck screwed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to cope with the pain. The fingers delved. 

"Deep cut here, sister. You want me to stitch it?" She used her thumb to push the abused flesh upwards. 

Starbuck couldn't help herself. She moaned, and flinched away once more from the cruel and prodding fingers. The Cylon stopped and stared at her, her expression one of utter contempt. 

"Okay, that's it. You just don't know what's frakking best for you, do you? Any of you.."

The doctor Six chopped her sharply and unexpectedly in the throat. Starbuck choked; hands automatically rising to prevent herself from further harm. The Six grabbed her hands and pulled them down. 

"What the frak is the matter with you??" She chopped her again in the same place. Unable to breathe, Starbuck fell back onto the cot, staring up with wide eyes at her tormentor. The Six seized her by the hair. 

"Get the *frak up. I haven't got all day, you know.."

D'Anna cleared her throat, watching this tableau with intense interest. "It won't require stitching. Thank you, doctor".

The Six paused in her threatening posture, looming over the pathetic cringing human on the bed. 

"No? Okay then. Let's move on, shall we?" She fixed the pilot once more with a vengeful eye. "Turn over". 

Trying to control her shivers, Starbuck did so. Felt so damn vulnerable, stretched out on her front with that sadistic Cylon bitch clawing and prodding away at her aching, lacerated back. 

"Nothing here that can't be cured with good old-fashioned cleanliness, sister. Was there anything else?"

D'Anna cleared her throat. "She seems to be running a slight fever.."

The Six looked at her oddly, and she hastened to explain. "She's important to the war effort, sister. I don't care in the slightest about improving her condition, but I do need to maintain it. I need her conscious, relatively fit, and aware. That's why she's here. I wouldn't bother otherwise".

The Six nodded as if satisfied. "I understand. Well, in that case..." She used her knuckles to rap Starbuck crudely on the back of the head. "Get up".

Furious inside, hating the humiliation, Starbuck obeyed. Sat upright on the cot, hating. Although she tried not to show her anger, some of it must have seeped through, because the Six looked at her narrowly. 

"Did you have something to say?"

Mutely, Starbuck shook her head. 

"That's good. That's very good. Because I'm an extremely busy person, and the last thing I've got time for is dealing with frakking terrorists like you. Do you understand?"

Starbuck nodded. Best to keep it safe. This bitch was off the scale. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you..." The voice was low, dangerous. She swallowed. 

"Yes. I understand..." Hating, hating deep inside. 

"Good. Now..." She turned to scrabble on an instrument tray by the bed. Starbuck sensed D'Anna's eyes upon her, and kept her head down. Trying her best to retain a compliant, penitent posture. The Six turned back to her. 

"Open your goddamned mouth".

She obeyed. A thermometer was roughly thrust in. "Close". She complied. "Now stay frakking still".

She obeyed that command too, sitting meekly on the bed while the bitch Six talked quietly with her tormentor. She sat quietly, holding the thermometer in her mouth, waiting. 

Finally, the thermometer was summarily removed. The Six looked at it and snorted.   
"Slight fever. Nothing worse than than what the rest of the human dogs are enjoying. Do them good, if you ask me". She placed one hand across Starbuck's throat, the other on her chest. 

"Cough". Starbuck obeyed. "Again". Again, she complied. It hurt her to cough, but she sensed again that to disobey direct orders would be foolish in the extreme. Her chest rattled. The doctor looked at her narrowly.

"Chest hot, is it?" she barked. "Hurts to breathe?"

That was putting it mildly. But accurate, insofar as it went. 

"Yes, ma'am". She coughed once more, unbidden this time. 

The Six looked mildly gratified at the honorific. "Yes, well". She turned to D'Anna. "Chest infection. I assume you want it treated?"

Watching, Starbuck marvelled to herself about the fact that she herself had absolutely no say whatsoever about her own treatment. She was entirely in the hands of another. 

"Yes, if you'd be so kind. This one is special.."

The doctor grinned sourly. "I assumed so, sister. She wouldn't be here otherwise". She turned to a locked cabinet by the wall. Rifled through it and brought out a package of pills. 

"One, three times a day. Now, what about the rest of it? Do you want its wounds dressing?"

D'Anna took the box, turning it over to read the instructions carefully. She looked up, almost haphazardly. 

"Hmmm? Oh, no, I'm sure that won't be necessary. Well..." She paused, seeming to reconsider. "Perhaps just the deeper ones. And her wrists too, if you'd be so good".

The doctor grabbed hold of Starbuck's hands, jerking her arms upwards. She examined the deep bruised welts on her wrists, crusted and scabbed over with dried blood. 

"Fine. The antibiotics will prevent infection, anyway, but whatever you think is best, sister".

She worked quickly and entirely without compassion, cleaning away the blood and muck from Starbucks wrists and face. Starbuck tried to remain as still and quiet as she could, trying not to give this bitch any excuse to hurt her more than she already was. Bandages and steri strips were applied to the worst of her wounds. 

D'Anna looked her over, appearing satisfied with the work. 

"Excellent. Thank you, sister. Now, just one last thing.. Could you check for internal bleeding? It was necessary to.. ah... forcibly remind her of her place, quite recently.."

If by that she meant kicking her repeatedly in the stomach, Starbuck thought sourly that she decidedly didn't need any further reminding. 

"Of course. Lie down". The doctor pushed impatiently at her shoulders until Starbuck flopped obediently backwards onto the cot. The Six palpated her slightly swollen stomach. 

"Just bruising and inflammation. I'll check her ribs.."

She did so, using one hand on top of the other to press down sharply. The pain was harsh and immediate, and Starbuck cried out. She couldn't help it. The doctor stopped immediately, staring down at her with disgust and contempt. 

"I haven't got time for this. Unless..." She looked the question at D'Anna, who nodded assent, smiling wickedly. The Six abruptly pulled the curtain around the bed. Before Starbuck realised exactly was about to happen, the doctor grabbed her by her hair, hauled her off the bed and punched her excruciatingly hard in the stomach. 

***

D’Anna allowed the assault to progress for a few moments before she allowed herself to intervene. A few moments only, but they were delicious ones, and served to convince her that her new idea would work.

“Sister? Sister, please, if I could interrupt for a moment..”

The doctor Six paused, panting, one fist curled in the human’s hair, the other raised to strike. She looked through the curtain of her own hair at her sister Three. D’Anna thought she looked almost feral, and congratulated herself on the appropriateness of her plan.

“I have an interesting proposition to put to you, one I think you might be rather pleased with…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A view of life, some time after the new arrangement has been agreed and implemented.
> 
> D'Anna's point of view.

I knocked on the door. I had a key, of course, but it was the courteous thing to do. Who knew what Six might be up to in there. Poor Starbuck.. Thinking about the once-feisty blonde pilot, resistance fighter wannabe, I smiled. Wondered how she liked her life now. It was certainly very different from before. I personally thought the changes were for the best, but she probably wouldn't agree. 

"Yeah..." I heard a faint voice from inside the apartment and pushed open the door. Nobody in the main room. Bowl of fruit on the floor, oranges rolled almost to my feet as I stood in the doorway. A chair on its side. 

"Six?" I could guess what had happened. It wasn't unusual. Happened most nights. Partly it was why I'd put this particular arrangement in place. Starbuck needed to learn her place, and receive the necessary regular and repeated punishment for her crimes, and my poor sister needed an outlet for her anger. It was the perfect solution.. as long as Six didn't get carried away and go too far. It was my only concern. We needed this particular human. She was special. 

"In here.."

The voice came from the kitchenette. I righted the chair and stepped over the oranges as I approached. I could hear running water. 

"Hey.." Six greeted me over her shoulder as the stood by the sink, washing her hands. She grinned at me faintly. She looked tired, but also relieved, as if some poison, some canker, had been drawn out of her. She always looked like this, after a session with the prisoner. It took a day or so for the anger and hatred to drip, drip drip into her again, filling her up until she simmered in an all-consuming state of rage and hatred at the humans and all their frakking stupid fake gods. At being on this crappy planet at all. At her own kind, for all I knew, although we hadn't really discussed that yet. I was trying to help her, had proposed her seeing a counsellor, someone she could talk to about her anger. Her reaction had been predictable, she laughed in my face and walked off. 

Never mind. That could wait. The most important thing was that right now, my beautiful, troubled sister had an outlet for her pain. On hand, whenever she wanted it. 

"Hey, sis. Where's Starbuck?"

Closer now, I could see that the water in the bowl was tainted pink. Six was using a small brush to scrub at her red-tinged fingernails. 

"Bedroom..." She looked a touch uncertain now, and returned her gaze to her hands. I smiled reassuringly at her reflection in the mirror. 

"Okay. I'll just be a mo..."

I paced quickly now across the small apartment towards the half open bedroom door, dreading what I would see behind it. *She can't be dead, I thought. *She can't be. And Six would've looked an awful lot more worried if there was any chance of that. Still, I knew that my foreboding wouldn't go away until I'd viewed the prisoner for myself. 

"Starbuck?"

No answer. I pushed open the door. Large bed, small room. Duvet pulled halfway onto the floor. Sheet tucked up into peaks by a grasping hand. Nothing else out of place. Apart from Starbuck. 

The human female sat on the floor, her back against the wall. She wasn't whimpering, or cowering, even when I crossed to stand before her. Her left arm was clasped across her chest. Her knees were drawn up protectively in front of her. Her right arm lay uselessly by her side. Her face was a mask of blood. 

Well, she was still breathing. And not bleeding out. That was good. I'd get Six to check her over in a while, once she'd calmed down from her exertions. I smiled as I looked down at the prisoner. This was her life now. And she had no choice but to accept it. It was a long, slow, delicious process, and I was finding it equally as rewarding as was Six. *Just goes to show that everything happens for a reason. We are all part of God's plan..

I reached out a hand and seized her chin, tilting her head up. Her eyes cracked open, widened in panic for a moment, then she relaxed slightly as she realised who I was. Somehow, for all our delicious beginnings on the flogging platform in the New Caprica market square, from her prison cell in the detention centre, from all our delightful shared history, Six had taken my place as her most-feared nemesis. Probably because of her flaring temper and complete irrationality. It was impossible for Starbuck to do or say anything right, when she was in those moods. I knew. I'd watched the tapes. Watched Starbuck's demeanour change over the course of a few short weeks, as she realised each time that a savage beating was coming her way and that there was absolutely nothing that she could do to stop it. 

I smiled. I didn't mind the transfer. It was almost nice to be seen as the protector for a change. And of course, things could change. Nothing ever lasts forever, after all. 

I moved her head from side to side. Couldn't see any signs of concussion, no vacant stare. She held my gaze, and I saw humiliation, suffering and hopelessness in her eyes. Amongst other things. But no dazed confusion. She knew very well where she was, who she was with and exactly what was happening to her. 

"Stand up, please". I released her chin and stepped back. Her eyes lowered. I knew there was defiance there, but her experiences over the last month had beaten a large amount of obedience into her. She knew that to refuse an order meant immediate and unpleasant consequences. 

Moving slowly, she unfurled her crouched body, still keeping her arm close along her chest. I watched, exulting inside at the change in the prisoner's demeanour. Wary, afraid, full of trepidation at what would happen to her next. I liked her like this. Liked knowing that she was scared, hopeless. I enjoyed imagining her thought processes, her gradual realisation that there would be no end to this, other than her own death. And that even that would be a mercy. 

"What did you do this time, Starbuck?"

She moved to put both hands flat on the floor, and winced in sudden pain. She stopped. Her voice was cracked and quiet, her eyes on the floor. 

"I.. I don't know..."

I could believe it. My beautiful capricious sister sometimes manufactured a reason for her assaults, but more often than not, especially lately, she simply piled into the human prisoner without an explanation. In truth, she didn't need one. Keeping the human population of New Caprica in line was reason enough. 

"I'm sure you did something to provoke her, Captain. We Cylons don't commit random acts. Unlike you. Everything happens for a reason, and we are all part of God's plan. And I thought I told you to get up".

She got moving again, using her hands to try and push herself upright. That little cry came again, and I saw now that her left arm was almost useless. She didn't seem able to move it independently, and it seemed almost to bend the wrong way. She was on all fours now, bloodied blonde hair hanging in her eyes, and in this position was unable to cradle her damaged arm to her chest. She whimpered, and I could see her trying to keep all her weight on her good arm. 

"Need a hand, sister?" 

The voice came from behind me and I turned to see Six standing in the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. Starbuck jerked involuntarily at the voice of her tormentor, and redoubled her efforts to obey my instructions. I grinned. 

"Thank you, no. We're almost there. Aren't we, Starbuck?"

The prisoner didn't reply, having finally managed to push herself to her feet. She stood on shaky legs, leaning against the wall, eyes still lowered. Her right arm moved her useless left back into its protective position, held loosely underneath her ribs. 

"What happened to her arm, sister?"

The Six snorted. "Broke it. Probably. Might just be a bad sprain. I'll have a look in a minute".

"Might be best. You know that this one is special.."

Six raised her head at the veiled warning in my words. There was no way I was losing this one, not even to the blessed release of death, and the subsequent relief from her endless subjugation, humiliation, pain and suffering. 

"Come".

I led the prisoner back into the main room, and ordered her to sit on the uprighted chair. Six had followed us, and now grinned at the sight of the fruit on the floor. 

"Should've seen it when she hit the table, sister. Thought she was gonna take the whole thing through the frakking wall..."

Crude human phrase, I thought, swallowing my own grin. And yet extremely expressive. 

"I'm sure it was quite the sight. What did she do?"

"Oh, the usual. Whimpered for a bit. Said she was sorry... you know the sort of thing.."

I laughed. 

"Indeed. No, sister, I meant what did she do this time to merit instruction?"

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They probably didn't have any oranges on Galactica. I don't care :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of previous chapter, still from D'Anna's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling like I have to add a further disclaimer to updates to all my stories at to mo.... so...
> 
> ### Please read tags and warnings, this story seriously isn't to everyone's taste, please don't read and repeatedly comment unpleasantly if you don't like, etc etc etc.....###
> 
> Thank you, much appreciated :)

Six looked blank for a second. Her eyes went vacant, as if remembering. 

"Oh, I see. Well..." 

Her eyes happened upon one of the oranges, and her face brightened into a grin. 

"Oranges! She brought back oranges from the marketplace. They've been selling them there, God alone knows where they got them from. I assume they've been in Galactica's cold storage all this time. And the filthy frakking humans didn't think to let us know!"

"I see". I turned to the prisoner. "Well, Starbuck?"

Starbuck looked down at the offending orange. She licked her cracked lips and spoke with difficulty. 

"I thought.. I thought it would make her happy. They.. they let me have three..."

I smiled thinly. I was pleased. The prisoner was already trying to please her captor, whether in an attempt to avoid further punishment, or in a genuine swing towards complete capitulation, I didn't know. Didn't care, at this point. 

"But oranges, Captain? Your people need the vitamin C far more than we do. We're superior in our genetic engineering, as you know. You've taken much needed vitamins and nutrients away from your own people. How do you feel about that?"

The prisoner's head bowed still further. She looked crushed. 

"Children, Starbuck. Kids could be eating those pieces of fruit right now. But they're not. Because of you".

I exulted inside at the defeated sight before me. 

"Look at me".

She raised her head slowly. Her eyes met mine, and I saw haggard misery in them. 

"Three oranges, Captain. One for each of us. Isn't that nice?"

She said nothing, just continued to hold my gaze. 

"That's right. One's for you". I bent down and selected a piece of fruit from the floor. I placed it in front of the ex-pilot on the table. "Eat it".

The prisoner shifted her gaze to the orange. Looked back up at me, clearly expecting some trick. 

"Go on".

I knew she didn't eat well. Knew my sister took pleasure in making her prepare meals with luxury ingredients, and refuse to allow her to share in the results. For my part I was proud of Six for coming up with this particular humiliation, of forcing the human to slave away in the kitchen which was something she'd never done in her life before and certainly not something she'd ever aspired to do. I knew that every night the prisoner ate algae protein cubes, or pine broth, or cardboard porridge, just like the rest of the pitiful humans. Not much better than animals, all of them. A pathetic, weakened race. *We were right to obliterate their planets, right to attempt the extermination of their entire species, I thought. *We were right to pursue them across half the galaxy, and we were right to live as gods above them right now, on this frakking horrible cold rock of a planet where they'd made their latest pathetic attempt to make a new home. 

"Don't make me ask you again.." Behind me, Six moved threateningly towards the table. The prisoner shivered, and hastily picked up the orange. She looked at it as if she'd never seen one before. Maybe she hadn't, before today. She held it in her good hand and looked back at my face. Back at the fruit. She moved it slowly towards her mouth and bit into the peel. So she had seen one before, then... 

I watched, hands clasped loosely behind my back as the prisoner slowly removed peel from flesh, using her teeth and her one good hand. I heard her stomach growl, a long, gurgling sound of sheer need. When the naked fruit lay exposed upon the pile of peel, she looked back up at me. Clearly frightened to eat without permission, and yet terrified of inciting punishment by disobeying my previous order, she was in a quandary. I delighted in the expression in her eyes, so different from the rage and hate and defiance that had occupied them until recently. 

"Eat".

She ate. She ate like an animal, insistent in her hunger, cramming the pieces into her mouth one after another. She kept her eyes on my face the entire time, and I watched her, relishing this utter and complete dominion over another being. Six snorted beside me. 

"Animal.." The comparison was rather appropriate, I thought, watching the prisoner devour the orange with bloodied teeth, lips and hands. I rocked backwards on my heels.

"Indeed. Will you be able to look at its arm now, sister?"

I wanted it treated as soon as possible. Conditions weren't the best on New Caprica, and it would take considerable time to get her onto a baseship for further treatment, should it become necessary. 

Six snorted again. 

"I suppose so.." She moved to get her medical bag from the unit by the door, then crossed to the prisoner. 

"Arm. Now".

Trembling, Starbuck used her right arm to pull her left away from her body. She held it out straight towards Six, supporting its weight. She clearly couldn't hold it in place by itself. 

I watched Six seize it roughly, and saw the prisoner bite down on a scream of pain, screwing its eyes shut in an attempt to cope. I grinned. For all the benefit of her medical training, my sister certainly hadn't absorbed much of the compassion and tenderness that usually accompanied those who entered the medical profession. 

"Not broken. Just a sprain. As I thought". She used thick bandages to wrap the wrist and elbow, providing much needed support. The prisoner looked better when this was done, I thought. As soon as Six was done with her arm, she carefully returned it to its previous position across her stomach. 

Six wasn't done with the rest of her, however. Now she'd expelled her rage on the prisoner, and calmed sufficiently following her exertions, she was ready to patch her up. Ready for next time. She knew exactly where she'd hurt her, and she checked her over, roughly but with competence. The prisoner had its ribs checked, its stomach palpated, its teeth inspected. It held still, accustomed by now to this nightly ritual. I wondered if by now she was beginning to feel a sense of gratitude for the medical care. 

Six finished cleaning the blood from her face and neck, and began applying steri strips to the new cuts. And to the old ones that had ripped open again. Her lips were a beaten mess, I saw, now that her face had reappeared from under its mask of blood. Swollen to almost twice their usual size. I felt an aching clench of excitement at the sight, and at the various scenarios it brought to mind. 

Six closed the last cut on the prisoner's eyebrow and pushed herself upright from her sitting position on the edge of the table. 

"There. All done. Nothing serious today, sister. Apart from the arm, and even that wasn't as bad as it looked..."

She looked almost hopefully at me, hoping for my agreement, my approval. I smiled at her with genuine love. 

"You did well, sister. I'm very proud of you". I probably would have to have a word with her at some point about the possibility of going too far, of injuring the prisoner beyond repair and before we were finished with her, but not right now. Certainly not in front of the subject. 

"What do you say, Starbuck?"

The response was immediate. It wasn't always so, back in the early days. It had only been a month or so, but it felt like so much longer. I grinned. Certainly felt a lot longer to the prisoner, of that I was sure. 

"Th..thank you..."

Six scowled at her. 

"Not that you deserve it. Don't make the mistake of thinking that any care you receive is provided out of concern for your pathetic wellbeing, human. Anyway. Clean this mess up".

She gestured to the bloodied rags she'd used to clean the blood from the ex-pilot's face and body, at the packaging from the disposable syringes and steri strips. The prisoner moved slowly and painfully to obey, gathering together the discarded wrappings with bruised, weakened hands. Her head was turned away from Six, but I marked the moment when two tears slipped, almost at the same moment, down the battered planes of her face.


End file.
